


Give Him a Mask

by Coatcollars



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Major Character Injury, POV First Person, Relapse, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coatcollars/pseuds/Coatcollars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock suffers with addictions throughout his time with John, he thinks he never notices, and he continues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Him a Mask

_Please take me to my grave._

_Show me what is easier._

_Please. Do this for me..._

I have no common idea of how I cooperated with this man in the beginning. He had astonished me in many ways, things that I could not describe in script. Though he was the most in-human being I have laid my eyes upon, he was also the most. He had struggled and hidden from me at times and and had completely discarded others who had dried his interest. His ways were confused and commonly misunderstood. He was stubborn and childish, yet deceptive. To me, this man had taken a liking, and such feelings were mutual. He had created a protection around me, not allowing me to dissolve like so many others did before him. We were close, I presume, though he had not told me every detail, for this man had a complicated past. No one fully withheld it. Barley himself.

\- John H. Watson

* * *

 

I- Nicotine

John had seemed to have stayed at his new woman friend's flat over night, I had already assumed this but had hopped to have found him sprawled on the couch with a throw over his chest.

No such thing occurred.

Fully dressed, I walked over to the stove and was readying to assemble the coffee, (John made it usually but I could manage). Hot water was in my mug and I had added warm milk as I have seen John do before. The machine in the corner of the kitchen layed silently and I pressed the button on the side and it sprung to life and made a low grumbling noise and coffee spilled on the counter. I cursed silently at it and placed my mug under the spew. I left the mess and drank heavily from my cup, the coffee wasn't strong enough, (half the contents being in a puddle on the counter) I added sugar and drank again, the flavor did not improve.

I sat on the couch, and waited for John to arrive, with a paper on my lap. He would be here at nine, alone and shallowly disappointed from his previous evening.

-

John arrived an hour later then anticipated and was not in fact disappointed.  
He had said this would happen at least twice a week.

"I really like her Sherlock, and we've been going out for over a month now… I think I should be out more, this is good for me." he said earnestly, his hands on his knees and his legs spread.

I shifted in my chair which I had recently migrated to. "Of course John, I don’t know what's been stopping you."

John relaxed into the couch, not sensing the emphasis in my words

"John, do you--?"

He interrupted me and seemed to sniff the air, "You made coffee?" he inquired.

"Mmhm. Yes."

He looked at me suspiciously and carried himself off his chair to the kitchen, where I heard him mutter my name. Then he shouted; I winced.

"Come here." he said audibly

I went and he was standing with his arms crossed as he watched the brown liquid drip to the tile off the counter, then stared at me

"You're going to clean this" he pointed at the mess. He un-crossed his arms then threw a rag at my chest which I caught.

I pondered the idea of why he always became so angry whenever I created a small mess.

"Sherlock." he demanded when I did not respond.

I repeated the last of my thoughts under my breath. "Fine." I said finally. I rolled up my sleeves to above my elbow and turned on the faucet which gurgled then splashed to the sink. I wet the cloth and shot John, who was watching intently, a deathly look.

  
Only until I was cleaning behind the coffee maker, John noticed my nicotine patches. He cocked and eyebrow and jerked his chin in the direction of my arm.

"You have a case?" he asked simply.

"No" I replied, I held a blank face and bent to the floor to mop the apparent calamity.

"Then what? Your not doing anything your not--"

I didn't let him finish: "I had a craving this morning."

"Oh."

"Yes."

He keeled down next to me and steadied his eyes on mine, I looked into his. Brown, with specks of blue at the edges.

"Thank you" he said as he put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. "For not-- You know..."

"Yeah." I said

He took the rag and smiled, finishing the cleaning. I watched his hands move back and forth and he stood to wring out the material in the sink, then offering a hand to bring my up from the floor. I did not take it, so I stood on my own. I was unable to face him.

I felt guilt.

**Author's Note:**

> With every addiction Sherlock faces I'll add a chapter/part.


End file.
